Homeless
by jozivabellepattersonfan
Summary: Jo shows up on Henry's doorstep with his pocket watch and an old photograph. Secret-reveal fic from Jo's point of view. Fourth in the "Homeless" series.
1. Explain It to Me

Chapter 1

"I also found this." I held up the worn black-and-white photo I'd found at the subway station. "I was hoping you could explain it to me?"

Henry had been cheerful when he answered the door. When he saw the picture, his face fell. As I waited for his reply, I tried to decide what he was feeling. I saw sadness in his eyes, certainly. Surprise. But fear? Why would Henry be afraid of an old photograph?

Abe came up behind him and saw the picture. His response was immediate. He said simply, "Tell her."

Henry looked at Abe, startled, and then seemed to make a decision. He smiled and said, "It's a long story." Stepping back, he gestured for me to come inside.

I stepped into the shop and followed him up the stairs to their apartment. Abe called after us, "I'm going for a walk. Give me a call if you need me."

"Yes, thank you, Abraham," Henry called back. His voice was shaking. My instinct was to reassure him, but I fought it; I had waited too long for answers, and I didn't care if he was nervous, he was going to give them to me. I deserved answers.

When we reached the top of the stairs, he started towards the kitchen. "I'll pour us a glass of wine," he said over his shoulder. "Take a seat. I'll be there in a moment."

"Henry, I don't want wine," I told him. "I just want answers."

"Well, I want wine, and if you want your answers, I'm going to need it." He poured two glasses and brought the bottle with him to the living room. "Please, sit down," he said, motioning to a chair. I took it; he took the other, putting the glasses on the side table.

I started to speak, but he cut me off. "Jo, I know you want answers," he began. I'd never seen him look so nervous. He was actually wringing his hands. "But I'm going to tell you right now that you're not going to like the answers I give you. You probably won't believe me. You might even think I'm clinically insane. So if you want your answers, you have to promise me something."

"What, Henry?"

He hesitated. "Promise me that, no matter what you might think, you won't have me committed."

I cocked my head at him. I could hardly believe my ears. "Are you serious?"

"Yes."

There was a long pause. Henry and I looked at each other. Finally I said, "Okay, Henry. I promise. Just tell me whatever it is you have to say."

"You promise not to have me committed?" Henry insisted.

"I promise," I repeated. "Just tell me, Henry."

He sighed. "Okay." He sat back in his chair. He didn't look at me, instead looking around the room as he spoke. "As I said, I don't think you'll believe me. However, I swear to you that what I tell you will be the truth as I know it."

He hesitated. He seemed to be trying to work up the courage to speak. When he did, it was in slow, halting tones, completely unlike his normal manner. "You may recall I had a... an uncommon interest in the slave ship, the Empress of Africa. There was a reason for that, beyond what I told you." He took a deep breath. "Did Isaac tell you how the slaves survived?"

I shook my head, then remembered he wasn't looking at me. "No, he didn't say."

"There was a man, a doctor. He tried to stop the ship's captain from throwing a sick slave overboard, and was shot by the captain himself. While the crew was dragging him up from the hold to throw him overboard, a key dropped from his hand. A slave was able to reach the key through the bars of his holding cell. Because of the key, the slaves were able to escape their cell, overthrow the crew, and make it to shore before the ship sank."

Henry paused. When he didn't speak for a moment, I asked, "What does this have to do with you?"

He turned to look me in the eyes. His voice was completely serious when he said, "I was the doctor on that ship, Jo. I tried to protect the slave and failed. I was shot – you've seen the scar. I was thrown overboard. I died."

In any other situation, I would have been waiting for the punchline. But this was Henry. Slowly I said, "You were the doctor."

"Yes."

"On the Empress of Africa."

"Yes."

"The ship that sank two hundred years ago."

"Yes."

"So that would make you, what... two hundred and thirty or so?"

He closed his eyes. "Yes. That night, when I was thrown overboard, I died, but I was reborn. It was the first of many deaths. That first case we worked together, when you thought you saw me fall off of the building? You were right – I did fall off the building. I jumped, actually. I died that day, and I came back to life, just as I always do. I am immortal, Jo."

I was about to reply, although I had no idea what I was going to say, when my cell phone rang. Henry and I both jumped. I pulled it out of my pocket and sighed. It was Hanson.

"Yes?"

"We've got a fresh one," Hanson said briskly. "42nd and Lex. Want me to call the Doc?"

I glanced at Henry. "No, I'll let him know."

"See you soon." Hanson hung up.

"I assume we have a case?" Henry asked. "We can resume this conversation at a later date. Or never, if you'd prefer." He said the last part to his hands, as if he was afraid to look at me.

"Oh, we will continue this conversation," I told him firmly. "And maybe when we do, you will start making sense. 42nd and Lex, Henry. Grab your coat." With that, I headed towards the stairs.

* * *

Here's my attempt at Henry telling his secret to Jo. It's not perfect, but I think it works in the end! The story is complete - I will try to post one chapter a day.


	2. Squirrelly

Henry acted squirrelly all day. He didn't said a word on the drive to 42nd and Lex. He was quiet and withdrawn at the scene, leading Hanson to ask where his insane theories were.

He flinched at the word "insane." "This one doesn't lend itself to strange theories, Detective," he replied, trying to sound like his normal self. "I think it's obvious what happened here. Our victim was asleep in the diner. Perhaps he was homeless. When the fire started in the kitchen, he didn't wake up in time, and the smoke inhalation killed him."

"So you're saying this _Isn't_ a homicide," Hanson said in disbelief.

"I suppose that would be for the arson investigators to decide," Henry said. "But from a medical standpoint, it appears this man simply died from the smoke. There are no signs of other trauma."

With that, Henry walked away to find the gurney. Lucas had just arrived with the van. I stared after him, thinking about what he had told me earlier. Immortal? Really? That was the story he was going with?

I realized Hanson was talking to me. "Hmm?" I asked.

"Can you believe it? We find a guy whose face is nearly purple and spotted with burns, and he calls it accidental almost on sight."

"Yeah, weird," I murmured, still watching Henry. "Are the arson investigators done?"

"They said it'll be awhile."

"Let's head back to the precinct, then. We can wait for their report while we try to identify the victim."

We spent the rest of the day at the precinct. The victim's fingerprints weren't in the system, and his face and eyes were too discolored for facial recognition, so we spent several hours combing through the security camera footage from the bank across the street. Eventually we found someone who came in, but never came out. The facial recognition software gave us a normally colored face, and an old school ID, for a Jackson Kane. A call down to Autopsy brought Lucas up to confirm that the approximate height and weight matched.

"Have you spotted anything that would contradict the accidental smoke inhalation theory?" Hanson asked Lucas.

"Not yet, no."

"What about Henry, what does he think?"

Lucas looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. "Um, well, Henry is waiting for the body to cool down before he draws any conclusions."

Hanson looked confused. Before he could speak, I said, "Great. Thanks, Lucas. Tell Henry I'll be down there to pick him up in a few minutes."

Lucas nodded and made his escape. Hanson asked, "You and Henry going somewhere?"

"We're going to check in with the arson investigators before the end of the day," I told him, though Henry and I had made no such plans. Really, I just wanted to make sure he didn't leave without me. We were going to continue our conversation, whether he liked it or not.

Henry was sitting in his office, staring off into space, when I entered the morgue. He jumped a mile when I knocked on the door. I motioned to him, and he nearly leapt to his feet to follow me out. Lucas gave me a look as we walked by, but I ignored him.

"Where are we going?" Henry asked, catching up with me.

"My place," I said. "I'm cooking, you're talking."

He grabbed my arm, forcing me to turn towards him. I jerked out of his grasp. "Jo, please," he begged. "Just stop for a minute."

"What, Henry?" I snapped.

He spoke quickly. "Jo, my story isn't going to change. What I told you earlier – it's the truth. If you can't accept it, there's no point in us talking any further."

I looked at him, then sighed and shook my head. "Just come on," I told him. "I make a mean spaghetti and meatballs."

* * *

I'm better at writing emotion and dialogue than case details, so I'm making most of them up and trying to sound like they make sense. If you see a glaring mistake, let me know! Also, thank you to parkin24 for reviewing, and KenH for your reviews of all my stories!


	3. Deductive Reasoning

Chapter 3

It wasn't until we were seated in my dining room, spaghetti and meatballs in front of us, that Henry spoke again. "Do you remember interrogating me during that first case?"

"Of course," I replied through a mouthful of spaghetti.

He took a deep breath. "I asked you to use your deductive reasoning to prove to yourself that I wasn't the killer. Would you be opposed to using your deductive reasoning now, to think through my immortality?"

I thought about it as I chewed. When I swallowed, I said, "My reasoning tells me that immortality doesn't exist."

"Yes, but forget about that for a moment." Henry was in full informational mode now. He stood up and paced as he spoke. "Humor me for a moment and imagine that immortality does exist. What would that explain about me?"

I sat back in my chair, looking up at the ceiling. "There's what you mentioned earlier – that I did, in fact, see you fall off a building during that first case. And your chest scar, as well."

"Good. What else?"

I considered this. "I suppose it would explain your willingness to jump in front of bullets and cars." I took another bite of spaghetti. Henry was nodding.

"Yes. It's not that I can't die – it's that I come back every time," he explained.

"And It would explain the old photograph. It's not doctored – that would really be you."

"Me and Abigail, and – well, that's a story for another time. But yes, it's me, and it is an original photo from 1946."

"And it could explain your extensive knowledge about, well, everything, especially history."

"Exactly," Henry agreed. "I haven't just studied history – I've lived it. The last two hundred years of it, anyway." He paused as I speared a meatball with my fork. "May I share another detail about my immortality with you?"

I nodded. "Go ahead."

"When I die, my body disappears and reappears in the nearest body of water."

Enlightenment struck me like fireworks. "The skinny dipping in the East River!"

"Indeed," Henry said. He looked like he was trying not to smile. "Unfortunately, my clothes don't regenerate like I do."

I took another bite to give myself time to think. The problem was, I didn't know _what_ to think. On the one hand, what he was saying made sense if you believed that immortality was real. On the other hand, I didn't believe that immortality was real.

I looked up to see Henry watching me. He was wringing his hands again.

"Henry, sit down," I said, gesturing towards the chair. "Eat. I'm not going to have you committed, even if I don't believe you. I know you well enough to know you're not crazy."

For a few minutes we were silent as we ate. Henry cleaned his plate in a remarkably short time. When he put down his fork, he told me, "You were right – you are incredible at making spaghetti and meatballs. What did you put in the meatballs?"

I smiled. "Onion, salt, pepper, and just a dash of nutmeg."

"Nutmeg! That's the taste I couldn't identify."

"Old family recipe. I don't cook very often, but when I do, I use my mother's recipes."

Henry set his hands on the table. Slowly he asked, "So, Detective Martinez, what is your reasoning telling you about me right now?"

I stood up to take my plate to the kitchen. He followed with his own dishes. "My reasoning is telling me that there are two options."

"And those are?"

I placed my plates in the sink, and accepted his with a murmured thank-you. "Either you are in a world of self-delusion – which I'm not ruling out –"

"Nor should you," Henry broke in.

"Or you are immortal."

We sat back down at the table. Henry looked at his hands as he asked, "And which of those two options are you leaning towards, Detective?"

I weighed my words before I spoke. "I know you, Henry. I know that you are intelligent, and kind, and – let's face it – kind of creepy."

He cracked a smile, still not looking up. "I have been called worse."

"I know that I can trust you to have my back. I know that you want to protect me, no matter how misguided of a notion that might be." I took a deep breath. I knew he wouldn't like what I was about to say. "But here's where the problem is, Henry: you have lied to me many, many times. How do I know you're not lying now?"

Henry took his time answering. I was about to prompt him to speak when he said, "There are two ways I can prove to you that I'm not lying. The first way is for you to talk to Abe. He will assure you that I am, in fact, immortal."

He paused. I asked, "And the second way?"

"The second way would leave you with no doubt," he said. "But I have a fair certainty that you would not allow it."

"What is it?" Even as I spoke, I knew the answer.

His voice was matter-of-fact as he said, "I could kill myself, and then you would see for yourself."

I stared at him. He stared back, waiting for me to reply. Finally I said, "Yeah, I think I'll talk to Abe."

* * *

I tried to make this similar to Jo's reasoning during the first episode, but I'm not sure I succeeded. Regardless, I think that Henry would have tried to get her to do that again.

Thanks to everyone who had read, followed, and favorited this story! I'm having a lot of fun with it. And thanks to superlc529 and KenH for reviewing. I'll let you see for yourselves if your speculations are correct. :) KenH, you had a good point, about Henry grabbing Jo's arm being a bit out of character. I think it made sense in that stressful situation, but I did look in my upcoming chapters and change a few things.


	4. Back to Normal

Chapter 4

It was late. I sent Henry home, promising to talk to Abe over my lunch break. I had a feeling it would be a long lunch.

As I got ready for bed, I thought about our conversation. Was I really, honestly considering the idea that Henry might be immortal? I mean, that was crazy. Maybe I was going crazy. Henry did tend to have that affect on people. Just look at Lucas.

But nothing in Henry's demeanor had suggested that he was lying. I was trained in interrogation techniques and how to tell when a suspect was lying. Henry had showed none of the signs of a liar. Everything that he did spoke to a man who was telling the truth. It had even seemed to be somewhat of a relief for him to tell the truth, as nervous as he was.

I tossed and turned most of the night, trying to make up my mind. _If Henry was just trying to get back on my good side, he would have come up with a much better story,_ I thought. _He wouldn't be trying to convince me that he's immortal._

 _But immortality is not real,_ I argued with myself. _Immortality is a dream, a fairy tale._

It was three AM before I finally fell asleep. I woke up at six o'clock, grumpy and disoriented. I took a hot shower and downed a bowl of cereal before heading to work.

The arson investigators were there, talking to Hanson. I walked over to join them. "Hey, guys. You do fast work, if you have a report for us already."

"It took awhile for us to get through the site, but once we did, the findings were easy," one of them said. I remembered him from an earlier case – something-or-other Stone was his name.

"The wiring was faulty in one of the ovens," the other told us.

"So, no sign of arson?" Hanson asked

"I wouldn't say that," Stone said. "There was a lot of debris in that particular oven. We found traces of heavy cardboard scraps and a phone book or two."

"We can't prove that they were put there on purpose, of course, but why else would you put cardboard and phone books into an oven?" his partner put in.

"I can't think of another explanation," I said. "Thanks, guys. That helps."

"No problem. We'll call if we uncover anything else, but I think we found everything we needed." The two investigators nodded to us and then headed towards the elevator.

Hanson turned to me. "I thought you and Henry were going to talk to them last night. What happened?"

"Oh, Henry was still waiting for the victim to cool," I said. "He didn't want to leave before it was done. By the time we could leave, the arson investigators had gone home."

"I see." Hanson sat down at his desk, eyeing me suspiciously.

"What?" I asked.

"You've been... different with Henry recently," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, during that museum case, you just about threw him off the team. And now, you seem like you can't decide what to do with him."

 _He doesn't know how true that is_ , I thought ruefully. Out loud I said, "It's nothing. We just had a disagreement, that's all."

"If you say so."

Suddenly, in his characteristic way, Henry burst into the squad room. "Jackson Kane was murdered," he exclaimed.

"Now we're back to normal," Hanson muttered.

* * *

A shorter chapter, but since I forgot to post one last night, I'll post another one tonight! I think one of the saddest things about Henry's condition is how many lies he (and other people who know) have to tell. Jo doesn't realize it, but she's already starting to lie for him. That doesn't necessarily play into this story, but it's something I'm establishing for future stories if I write them.

Thanks again for reviewing, superlc529 and KenH!

About Jo cooking - My personal headcanon is that Jo almost never cooked in the year after Sean died, because she couldn't muster up the motivation. Now she tries to cook once a week in an attempt to regain a sense of normalcy. Hence, the fact that she had the ingredients for spaghetti and meatballs on hand. Superlc529, I'm making you virtual spaghetti and meatballs.

I'm glad you both think I did the reasoning part justice. :)


	5. The Spirit of Honesty

Chapter 5

Lieutenant Reece came out of her office to hear Henry's explanation.

"It's small," he told us. "Just a minute needle mark on his right forearm. But Jackson Kane was drugged."

"That doesn't necessarily mean he was murdered," Lieutenant Reece put in.

"But he wasn't drugged voluntarily," Henry said. "The bruising around the needle mark suggests that someone forced the needle in. The toxicology report confirmed my suspicions. He was drugged with Diphenhydramine." At our blank stares, he clarified, "Diphenhydramine is an allergy medication, more commonly known as Benadryl. He had twice the normal amount in his system."

Lieutenant Reece whistled. "That would knock him out without any trouble. Do we know of anyone who had motive against Jackson Kane?"

Hanson and I looked at each other. "We didn't look into it much, because the accidental fire appeared to be the cause of death," I admitted. "All we know about Jackson Kane is that he has no family, has never had a job, and has been homeless for most of his adult life."

"We'll look into homeless communities in the area," Hanson said. "See if anyone knows more about him."

"Good plan. Get to it," she ordered. We nodded. "And Henry?" Lieutenant Reece added. "Good work."

He inclined his head to her. "Simply due diligence, Lieutenant. But to be fair, the needle mark was Lucas's find."

"Pass the message along to him, then." Lieutenant Reece returned to her office. Hanson began to comb through traffic cams to see if he could spot where Kane was coming from before he entered the diner. I beckoned to Henry.

"Let's go visit some homeless shelters, see if anything shakes up," I said.

"First allow me stop by the morgue and speak with Lucas," he replied. "I'll meet you at the car?"

"No, I'll just come with you. It's not that far out of the way." For some reason, this made him look uncomfortable, but he allowed me to precede him into the elevator.

Lucas was examining something under a microscope when we came in. "Henry, take a look at this," he called over his shoulder. Henry put his eye to the scope as Lucas explained, "I found it under the victim's fingernails. I think it's skin."

"Hmm, I believe you're right, Lucas. You are, to use the colloquial phrase, on a roll," he told his young protégé. Lucas beamed. "Run the DNA through our database. Perhaps we will find a match." Lucas nodded and headed towards the lab.

Henry hesitated, looking toward his office. I raised an eyebrow at him. "Is there a problem, Dr. Morgan?"

"I..." His voice trailed off. He shook his head. "No, let's go, Detective."

We were halfway to our first destination, a popular homeless shelter near the diner, when Henry spoke up again. "In the spirit of honesty, Jo..."

"Always a good spirit..."

"I wanted to call Abe, about your lunch date."

"Didn't you tell him last night?" I asked.

"Yes, but... it's been some time since I've revealed my secret to anyone, Jo. Abe was the last one, about fifty-five years ago. So forgive me for feeling... insecure."

I felt a pang of pity, but all I said was, "Here we are."

The first two homeless shelters were a bust. The third was somewhat more productive; the helpers remembered Jackson, but hadn't seen him in over a month. By the time we finished our interview there, it was time for me to return Henry to the station and head to the antique shop.

Henry got out of the car, but only reluctantly. "Are you sure you don't want me to come, Detective?" he asked through the window. "I think it could be a productive conversation with all three of us..."

"No, Henry," I said, firmly but gently. "I think it would be better if Abe and I had our talk alone. Plus," I added, grinning up at him, "I don't want to share Abe's cooking."

He smiled. "Now that I understand. I will see you later, Jo." He stepped onto the curb, and I pulled away.

Abe greeted me at the door. "Ah, Jo, you're just in time. I've just taken my famous tomato basil soup off of the stove."

I sniffed the air. "It smells delicious, even from down here. Please tell me there's–"

"Grilled cheese sandwiches, made by a master."

I grinned at him. "Just what I need today, Abe. Thank you." He flipped the "Open" sign on the door before we walked up the stairs to the kitchen.

"I'm not one to mince words, Jo," he said as he pulled out my chair. "I'll give it to you straight: Henry Morgan is immortal."

I blinked at him. He'd startled me. "Okay," I said slowly. "Tell me more."

"I'll talk, you eat. I know you have a schedule to keep." He handed me a spoon before sitting down. I happily dug in as he began to speak.

"I assume Henry told you about the logistics of his condition: he dies, his body disappears and reappears naked in the nearest body of water." I nodded. "Let me tell you, this lends itself to some awkward situations. You know about the police reports. Well, I'm the lucky one who gets to bail him out all the time. The people in holding know me quite well."

He chuckled. "Then there's the cost in clothing. You know Henry doesn't like to buy cheap. Just ask his tailor; he gets new suits, in bulk, several times a year. And God only knows how much he spends in scarves alone."

I swallowed a bite of grilled cheese – Abe really was a master – and asked, "If Henry is immortal... how did you find out about it?"

"Ah, now there's a good question." Abe sat back in his chair. "Let me give you some history first. Did Henry tell you that he was a regular doctor once, one that worked on the living?" I nodded. "He was a medic in World War II. Near the end of the war, when the Allied forces began to clear out the concentration camps, a nurse found me." He showed me the numbers tattooed on his arm. "I was a healthy baby, about three months old. That nurse brought me to Henry for an examination.

"Long story short, that nurse was Abigail. She and Henry fell in love and adopted me as their son."

I looked up from my soup, eyes wide. "Wait. Henry is your father?"

"Yep."

I ran my fingers through my hair. "That would explain a lot," I murmured, remembering Henry's reaction to finding Abe's mother's bones. "So you would be the kid in the old photograph?"

"That's right," he replied. "I didn't grow up knowing that my father was immortal, although I did wonder why we moved around so much. I was about ten when I learned Henry's secret."

"What happened?"

"He was fixing the shingles on our roof. I was supposed to be holding the ladder, because the ground was uneven, but I stepped away for a minute to follow a toad. The ladder fell, and so did he. He hit his head in just the wrong place. Before I knew it, he had disappeared."

"That would be terrifying."

"A bit," Abe agreed. "Thank God my mother was home. I ran inside and told her what had happened, and she calmly picked up a bag of clothes and walked us down to the river. There he was, waiting behind a bush. She handed him the bag and he got dressed while he explained."

I listened to Abe's stories until long after my sandwich and soup were gone. _Immortality is not real, Martinez_ , I told myself over and over as I listened. _Abe and Henry have obviously rehearsed these stories._ But as much as I tried to convince myself, I couldn't quite do it. Abe's stories were incredible, but they had the ring of truth.

Finally I stood up and stretched. "I really should get back to the precinct," I said with a sigh. "But this has helped, Abe. Thanks."

Abe got up and put his hand on my arm. "I trust you, Jo, but Henry's my dad, and I've got to ask. What are you thinking right now?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "All I know now is that I need to talk to Henry more. But I promise, Henry is in no danger from me."

"Thanks, Jo." Abe's cheerful demeanor cracked, and I could see the anxiety underneath that he'd been hiding. "I really appreciate that. I mean, we both do."

I assured him that I would talk to Henry soon before driving back to the precinct. As I did, I asked myself, _What have I gotten myself into?_

* * *

And of course, I forgot to post another chapter last night. Here it is! Thanks to everyone who has read, favorited, followed, and reviewed!

KenH, you mentioned photographs and albums, but I feel like Henry doesn't take many photographs, even photographs that only his family is going to see. I think he'd see it as too much of a risk. So I had Abe tell her stories instead. There's such a big difference between rehearsed stories and true stories that I thought it might help convince Jo. However, as you can see, she's still skeptical. (Also, those deviled eggs sound delicious!)

And KenH and superlc529, I think Hanson is one of the easier characters to write, especially when he's interacting with Henry. :) Also I think it's good to have comedic breaks amongst the seriousness of Jo and Henry's conversations!


	6. Rough Patch

Chapter 6

I stopped by the squad room after lunch to check on Hanson. "How's it going?" I asked, looking at the screen over his shoulder.

"So far, I've managed to track Kane a grand total of five blocks," Hanson replied, making a face. "He came from the east and turned the corner onto 42nd from Randolph. That's all I've got for you so far."

"Hey, that's something." I patted his shoulder. "Want a break? You could come homeless-shelter hopping with me."

"No, I'll keep at it. Thanks though. Have you had any luck?"

"We found one shelter that recognized Kane, but they hadn't seen him in over a month. Henry and I are going back out in a few."

He rolled his chair back and swiveled around to look at me. "So how was your morning with the Doc?"

"Fine," I said.

"You've gotten past your "disagreement," then?"

I sighed. "Just about, yes. Don't worry about it, Hanson. Henry and I will work it out."

"If you say so, Jo." He didn't look entirely satisfied, but he turned back to his computer without further comment. "Here we go again," he said. "Have fun shelter hopping."

"Have fun with your security cams," I replied before heading down to the morgue.

Henry was there, helping Lucas put Jackson Kane's body in the freezer. "Are you done with the autopsy, then?" I asked.

"Yes," Henry replied without looking at me. "All we have left to discover is who that DNA belongs to."

"I'll check on that search, hurry it along if I can," Lucas said.

"Good work, Lucas." Henry turned to me, still not quite looking me in the eyes. "More homeless shelters?" I nodded, and he went to get his coat from his office.

Lucas grabbed my arm and nearly dragged me over to a corner. "Jo, are you and Henry okay? Yesterday he only really moved when you were here. Otherwise he just sat in his office, staring at nothing. I've never seen him do that. He seems better today, but I'm worried that it'll start again. We could have run that search yesterday, but I couldn't even get his attention long enough for him to sign off on it." He stopped, out of breath, and I took the opportunity to jump in.

"Henry and I are fine. We're just going through a rough patch," I assured him. "I promise, we'll work it out, and you'll have the old Henry back in no time."

Lucas opened his mouth to speak, doubtless to ask the definition of "rough patch," but Henry came up to us. Lucas closed his mouth and hurried away.

"He's worried about you," I told Henry was we walked to the elevator.

"Me? Why?" Henry asked, sounding surprised.

"According to him, you were practically a vegetable yesterday."

"Oh." He sighed. "Yes, I suppose I was." As the doors closed with a _ding_ , he turned to me, eyes serious. "I allowed my personal feelings to affect my work, and put myself above the victim. I'm sorry, Jo."

I returned his serious gaze. "Under the circumstances, I understand."

"It won't happen again," he promised.

"I have no doubt of that."

We got to my cruiser. Before I put the car in reverse, Henry asked, "May I inquire about your lunch with Abe?" His voice was quiet and pained, as though he was bracing himself for the worst possible news.

I weighed my words carefully. "It was... enlightening, to say the least," I told him. "I'm still not sure what I believe, but know that I'm considering the options. All right?" He nodded.

When we arrived at the shelter, I showed my badge to the person at the front desk. She left to get a supervisor. While we waited, Henry said, "This is a nicer place than the last few."

"I agree," I replied, looking around. The shelter was brightly lit, with paintings on the walls and clear signs pointing the way to the cafeteria, overnight quarters, restrooms, showers, and food pantry. "It would be easy to feel comfortable here. Half of the problem is just wondering where to go."

"That's the idea," said a voice behind us. We turned to see a stocky dark-skinned woman coming towards us. She grabbed a brochure off of a table and handed it to me. "We want our guests to know what's going on as soon as they come in the door. By having a designated reception area, we're able to keep the chaos to a minimum."

"Makes sense to me," I said, pocketing the brochure. "Are you the supervisor?"

"Yes, I'm Penny," she replied. I introduced us, and she said, "Please, Detective, Dr. Morgan, come this way." Penny led us down an employees-only hallway and into her office. It was decorated with nothing but pictures.

Penny noticed me looking at them. "Some of our success stories," she said. She came to stand next to me and pointed to a photo. "That man has a full-time job now. This one," she pointed to another photo, "she was able to get into a good rehab program, and now she's operating a shelter of her own." Penny chuckled. "I could go on, but I'm sure that's not why you're here, Detective."

"Unfortunately, no." I pulled out Jackson Kane's photo and showed it to her. Her face immediately fell.

"Jackson," she murmured. "When he didn't return the other day, I was concerned, but there was nothing I could do. What happened to him?"

"I'm sorry to tell you this, Penny, but he passed away last night." Her eyes welled up with tears. "When did you last see him?" I asked gently.

"Monday. Yes, Monday afternoon. He told me he had to meet someone, but he would be back to claim his bunk for the night. I held it for him as long as I could, but when he never came, I had to give it up to someone else."

"What time was that?"

"Three o'clock. I remember because I was a few minutes late to our staff meeting, which starts at three."

"Did you know Jackson well?" Henry asked. "You seem to become close to many of your clients."

Penny smiled. "Jackson was a sweetheart. He was so lonely, because he had no family, so he made friends with everybody. He never finished high school and had no marketable skills, so he had trouble finding a job – but he always wanted to help in the kitchen."

"Could we talk with some of your kitchen volunteers? Perhaps they could shed some light as to where Jackson went after he left the shelter yesterday," Henry suggested.

"Of course. Right this way." She wiped her eyes and led us down the hallway. We were about to go through some double doors when my cell phone rang.

"Excuse me for one moment," I told Penny. She nodded. I stepped away and answered the phone. "What's up, Lucas?"

* * *

Superlc529 and KenH, your speculations were correct! Thanks to Lucas, we know that Henry was not quite himself the day he talked with Jo. I'll let you wait and see if your new speculations are correct. :) Thanks to everyone who has read, favorited, followed, and reviewed! I hope you're having as much fun with this story as I am.


	7. Dead End

Chapter 7

"I'm in the squad room with Hanson. I got a hit on the DNA from Kane's fingernails," Lucas said. "A guy named Eliot Maxwell."

"He's a real nice guy," Hanson put in. "A few drug arrests, a few burglaries. And guess what else?"

"What?"

"I found him on the security footage, him and a friend – we think it's Spencer Jones, one of his accomplices, although we can't make out his face."

My heart began to beat faster, as it always did when I felt we were about to break the case. "What was he doing on the security footage?"

I could almost see Hanson's excited grin. "Oh, just pushing Kane into an alley and yelling in his face."

"Sounds like our guy."

"Sending you his picture now," Hanson said. "Let us know if you learn anything more about him at the homeless shelter."

"Will do." I hung up, then pulled up the picture Hanson had sent. It showed a heavyset white man who looked like a wrestler. As Penny opened the double doors for us, I discreetly showed the picture to Henry. He nodded.

The cafeteria was well-lit and decorated with pictures of fruit. Penny led us towards the kitchen in the back of the room.

Maxwell was there, chopping something on the counter. He saw us – and my badge – just as I identified him. He dropped his knife and ran to the back of the kitchen. I drew my weapon and raced after him, shouting, "NYPD, freeze!" Over my shoulder, I ordered Henry, "Stay with Penny!"

"Detective Martinez will apprehend him," I heard him assure Penny as I sprinted through the kitchen. There was a back entrance, as I'd suspected. I opened the door quickly and leveled my gun, looking around for Maxwell. The back entrance led into an alley, blocked off on one side by trash bins and partially blocked on the other by recycling bins. I made my way towards the easy exit, figuring that Maxwell would have taken the quick way out.

I spotted him just as he rounded the corner onto the street. I ran after him. He ducked into an alley, and I followed.

It was a dead end. "On your knees, Maxwell!" I shouted, pointing my gun at his back. "Put your hands on your head!"

He started to obey, and I holstered my weapon, going for my handcuffs.

Suddenly I felt the cold muzzle of a pistol on the back of my head. "Stop right there," a voice drawled in my ear. I froze.

"Let my friend go, and I promise not to kill you," the voice continued.

"Why should I believe you, Spencer Jones?" I asked, praying I was right about Maxwell's friend.

He chuckled. "You are clever, aren't you? Too clever. I think I'll just put you down myself." I felt the pistol move slightly and dropped to the ground, rolling quickly to the side. I heard someone shout just before the gun went off.

Maxwell swept past me before I could get to my feet. When I got to the street, they were out of sight. I groaned – and then I heard a groan behind me.

It was Henry.

He had been hit in the chest, close to his heart. I could tell from a glance that it was fatal. I dropped to my knees beside him and took off my jacket to slow the bleeding.

Henry protested weakly as I pressed it to his wound. "No, Jo, stop... it'll be... okay..."

"I'm going to stop the bleeding," I said in a rush. "You'll be okay, Henry, just hold on, let me call an ambulance-"

"Jo... the river..." he whispered, and suddenly he was gone, like he had never been there at all.

* * *

KenH, I hope that was the collision course you were hoping for. :P Thanks to all for reading, following, favoriting, and reviewing!


	8. The River

Chapter 8

"Maxwell was in a white shirt and jeans, I didn't get a look at Jones but they're together," I told Hanson over the phone as I sped towards the East River, sirens blaring. "I lost them right out front of the New Hope Center, check cameras, figure out what way they went. I'm running down another lead." Before he had a chance to speak, I hit "end call" and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat.

I turned off the sirens a few blocks from the river. When I arrived, I parked next to the curb and got out of the car. My hands were shaking. Okay, all of me was shaking.

"He has to be here," I told myself firmly. I refused to believe otherwise, refused to remember losing Sean. I couldn't lose Henry. I couldn't. "He has to be."

Now that I was at the river, I wasn't sure where to look. I decided to just pick a side and a direction and start walking. Quickly. It felt like hours, but was probably a few minutes, before I heard, "Over here, Detective!"

The voice came from a large bush. I ran over to it, then stopped and turned around when I remembered that he was probably naked. "Henry, you're alive." I could hardly get the words out through my tears.

"Yes, I'm alive, I'm all right," he said. "I'm here, it's okay, Jo."

I wiped my eyes, but the tears kept falling. "Let me – let me grab a blanket from the car," I managed to say. I ran to the car, popped the trunk, grabbed a blanket, closed the trunk, and ran back to Henry in record time, especially considering that I was still shaking like a leaf.

I tossed the blanket over my shoulder towards the bush. "Thank you, Jo," he said. "You can look now."

I turned. There he was, wrapped in the fleece blanket my niece gave me, hair wet and tousled. I choked back a sob and looked away.

"Jo?" Henry asked. "Jo, come here, it's all right." He extracted an arm from the blanket and put it around me, drawing me close to him. I buried my head in his chest and cried.

* * *

I think she believes now, guys. :P Thanks to superlc529, KenH, and Passerby for reviewing, and everyone else for reading, following, and favoriting! One chapter to go.

Also: bonus points to anyone who can figure out what the names Stone, (Jackson) Kane, Eliot Maxwell, and Spencer (Jones) have in common. They're not related to this fandom, but they all have to do with a particular person.


	9. Sense of Home

Chapter 9

Once my tears had dried, I drove Henry to the shop so he could pick up some clothes. "I have to say, this might be the strangest thing I've ever done," I told him, glancing over at the blanket-clad doctor in my passenger seat.

"Trust me when I say that I've done stranger," he replied, grinning.

"I think I trust you on that one." We drove in silence for a few minutes before I asked, "How did you get shot today?"

"Maxwell's accomplice, of course," he said, surprised.

"Yes, but how? You weren't with me when I was running after Maxwell. If you were following me, you were sneaky about it."

"Ah, yes, that's true," he acknowledged.

"Henry..."

"You heard the shot," he said, still avoiding the question. "What do you think happened?"

"The shot went off just after I dropped to the ground," I said slowly.

"Yes."

"It would have hit me," I realized. "You jumped in front of the bullet." When Henry didn't reply, I knew it was the truth.

We pulled up in front of the antique shop. I stopped the car and turned to look at Henry.

"I'm not sorry, Detective," he said, looking me in the eyes. "I would die a thousand times if it would save your life just once."

I couldn't think of anything to say to that. He smiled, then went into the shop. A few minutes later, he emerged, looking the same as ever in a three-piece suit and scarf. He was holding the blanket. When he got into the car, he said, "I can wash this and return it to you if you prefer."

"No, that's all right," I told him. "Just toss it in the backseat." I was about to drive back to the New Hope Center when Hanson called.

"You're on speaker," I told him.

"Hi, Doc," he said. "Good news, Jo – we got 'em."

I sat straight up in my seat and shared a grin with Henry. "Where?"

"Uniforms are bringing them in now. I found their car on the security footage, put out a BOLO, and in about fifteen minutes they had been stopped. Jones tried to resist, but he was surrounded. Maxwell gave up right away."

"We'll be there in a few. Don't start without us."

We arrived at the station just as Maxwell and Jones were being brought in. Maxwell was put into Interrogation Room 1. From his reactions with me and the uniforms, it was clear that if one of the two was going to break, it would be him.

I entered the room with Henry and sat down. "Well, well, Eliot Maxwell," I said, opening his file. "In addition to resisting arrest and fleeing the police earlier, we've also got you for murder one. Would you like a cell with a window?"

That was all it took. "Please, I'll cut a deal, it was all Jones' idea, just give me a deal and I'll tell you everything!"

"Tell us about Jackson Kane," Henry ordered.

"He was staying at the shelter. Jones and I, we needed help with our side business, you know? So we recruited Jackson to help us."

"Side business?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Cocaine," he said. "We cooked cocaine in the shelter kitchen after hours, and Jackson would help us. He was real lonely, like, so we told him we were his friends and just wanted to help him get some quick cash."

I leaned forward. "What went wrong?"

"Jackson, he didn't like breaking the law, but he didn't want to rat us out. So he was just going to tell Penny that maybe she should keep an eye on the kitchen during the night. Jones, he couldn't have that. He told Jackson that if he didn't keep his mouth shut, he would shut it for him. But Jackson was going to tell anyway."

He paused. I asked, "Did Jones kill Jackson?"

"Not exactly," he said. "He just drugged him up on Benadryl and then left him in the diner. I thought that was going to be the end of it, you know? But then I saw the next day that the diner had burned down and a homeless guy had died in it. I knew it had to be Jackson."

Henry and I stood. "I'll talk to the judge about a deal, since you cooperated," I told him. We left the room and met Hanson coming out of Observation.

"That was easy," he commented.

"Yes, well, I think Maxwell's guilt got the best of him," Henry said. "None of his prior arrests were for violent crimes. He wanted to make a quick buck. He didn't sign up to kill anyone."

"And now Jones will be going away for good." I put Maxwell's file on my desk and let out a deep breath. "I'm glad this one is over."

Hanson stretched. "Me, too. I know we catch criminals every day, but someone who preys on the homeless, well, he's as bad as they come." He wandered away to talk to the officers holding Jones. I grabbed my coffee mug and went to the break room for a refill.

Henry followed, leaning against the door frame. "When you think about homelessness, you usually think about the physical aspects: living on the street, being cold and hungry, and so forth. But there's more to it – a home is a place you feel comfortable being yourself in, somewhere you feel that you belong. It's a shame, what happened to Jackson. He was just trying to find that sense of home."

I took a sip of my coffee. "I've never thought about it that way."

Henry stepped towards me. "I haven't felt that sense of home since Abigail left. I didn't allow myself to be myself around anyone but Abe. I haven't had a place where I felt I belonged in years." He took another step towards me, so that our faces were only inches apart. "Since meeting you, Jo, I think I've been moving closer to that sense of home."

I looked up at him; he was smiling in the way that made me feel weak in the knees. I swallowed.

"Jo!" Hanson called from across the squad room. "Lieutenant Reece wants our reports!"

"Crap," Henry muttered.

I smiled at him. "That's not very British of you."

"Actually..." That was all it took; he was off on another one of his tangents. As we walked back to my desk, I smiled to myself. Even an immortal Henry was still just Henry.

I was looking forward to learning what "just Henry" really meant.

* * *

And there you have it! A conclusion that's actually a beginning. I hope the title "Homeless" makes more sense now. I'm working on a sequel that I hope I'll finish and start posting soon, so be looking for that. Thank you to everyone who read, followed, favorited, and reviewed, especially KenH and superlc529! I hope you had as much fun with this story as I did. I never expected this story to be viewed so many times!

And finally, bonus points to Passerby: Christian Kane did indeed play Eliot Spencer on Leverage, and he also played JT Maxwell on King and Maxwell and currently plays Jacob Stone on the Librarians.

Since I can't reply to your review, Passerby, a note about Jo's threat to Eliot Maxwell: I think she was making Maxwell's situation seem worse than it was to scare him into confessing. The "murder one" comment wasn't meant to be taken seriously by anyone but Maxwell.


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